Chapter XVII: “better Than Brotherly!”

The door of Margot’s room shut out the rest of the world, and she and Gene stood looking at each other.

He had come at her bidding, a little reluctantly it had seemed to her, but she had greeted him with gay insouciance and had delicately skirted the edge of personalities during the dinner hour.

She had told him of the encounter with Stoner the preceding day; of his unexpected appearance that morning, and his frank avowal of guilt; of Corinne’s amazing attitude toward herself, and of the final outcome so far as the president and directors were concerned. She had actually made him laugh with her humorous treatment of events and the persons motivating them. She had caught a quick frown at her description of Stoner’s friendly parting with her in Corinne’s dressing-room, and her heart had beaten a little faster. Why should Gene frown at mention of Stoner unless he were actually in love with her?

It was all told, and as they stood facing each other, behind her closed door, there was nothing between her and Gene except mutual doubt and suspicion.

“Well,” she began lightly, sparring for time, “I hope I didn’t butt into any of your plans for this evening by sending for you, Gene.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he said sternly, looking at her with unhappy eyes.

“‘Funny!’” She gave a nervous laugh. “Why, no. I’m quite serious. Come on, let’s sit down. I hate talking standing up.”

She moved to the divan and he took a chair a few feet away and sat down a little stiffly, Margot thought.

She saw that he was not going to help her out, and with sudden irritation she said abruptly:

“I thought _possibly_ you might have an engagement for to-night with Lulu Leinster.”

He bent forward and looked at her intently.

“So--that big stiff, that cad, told you he saw us last night.”

“He mentioned it--casually.” Margot tapped the end of an unlighted cigarette with elaborate unconcern. Then she flashed him a sudden glance of assumed surprise. “Why was it such a horrible faux-pas for him to have mentioned it?”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” Gene said quietly. “Some other man might have mentioned a thing like that--‘casually,’ as you call it--but not Stoner. He had some mean motive or he wouldn’t have bothered to talk about us.”

“Well--perhaps,” Margot conceded slowly. “However, the interesting fact is that you _were_ with Lulu last night. You see, Stoner told us that Lulu was going out with him, or after him, to the coast, and it seems that Corinne had signed her up for her next picture, so she was sure Stoner had lied. She sent for Lulu and questioned her, and to my annoyance asked her if it were true that Stoner had seen you two together last night. Lulu said it was. So that was that. I’m just amused, you know, for I hadn’t supposed you cared enough for the little prize beauty to spend an hour with her, voluntarily.”

“You know damn well I don’t.” Gene’s unexpected violence was rather startling. He stared at her with somber eyes.

“Then what, may I ask, just in passing, happened to bring about the little party last night?”

“See here, Margot, I don’t know that you have the right to question me, considering your _sisterly_ interest in me, but I’ll tell you what there is to tell, because I’m fool enough to care tremendously what you think of me, regardless of loving me.”

Margot lowered her eyes quickly. She was afraid of what Gene might read in them, and she wasn’t quite ready for her own confession.

“When I left you, night before last, I made up my mind that I couldn’t stand your little cat-and-mouse game any longer. Something rose up in me against your treatment of me. I couldn’t stand it any longer,” he repeated himself helplessly. “It seemed to be clear enough that you didn’t and never would care for me as I wanted you to. I was pretty miserable. Last evening I happened to run into Lulu on Broadway. It struck me she wasn’t looking very cheerful herself. On a sudden impulse I asked her to spend the evening somewhere with me. She agreed. I admit, frankly, I tried desperately hard to work up a flirtation with her. She realized just what an effort I was making and she laughed at me. Finally she got me started about you and I spilled over, told her everything and she gave me the sympathy I needed. That’s all there was to it, Margot.”

She studied him for a moment, then she said gently:

“Are you sure that’s all there was to it, on her side?”

Gene gave a sudden laugh. “_Ask_ her,” he said briefly. “Why, she’s so in love with some nut in the company, who’s got a wife and three kids, that she can’t _see_ any other man. I gave a little good advice and I believe it got under her skin. Hope so, anyway.”

With her heart beating faster and her eyes glowing with excitement, Margot tried to speak calmly.

“Do you remember my saying that after disposing of Stoner and my mystery, there was something else of importance I had to attend to?”

“Yes, I remember,” he said, frowning at her. “Something of vital importance, before you could pay any attention to _me_.”

She smiled at him, mockery on her lips, tender challenge in her deep gray eyes. He got up quickly and stood looking down at her, where she lay against the cushions.

“For God’s sake, Margot, stop playing with me!”

“Silly, silly old thing!” she said softly. “It never remotely occurred to you that the ‘important’ thing I hinted at so mysteriously was--well, my dear, just--you and me.”

He threw himself beside her and leaned over her, speaking fiercely.

“You said you’d let me kiss you as a _brother_, and for the last time. What the devil did you mean?”

“I meant--that the next time you kissed me, I’d want it to be as--my lover. Then you became a caveman, and--and I _liked_ it, but you banged out of the room without waiting to find out.”

He stared at her a second, then he gave a low cry and seized her in his arms. He kissed her, eyes and throat and mouth, in an ecstasy of joy and of passion long restrained.

“Darling--darling! I never dreamed--I was afraid even to hope. I love you so, Margot, I adore you.”

Between his kisses she managed to tell him that she had known beyond all possibility of doubt, just how deeply she loved him, when he had given way to his emotions, in that very room two nights before, and had kissed her as no man had ever kissed her before and as, she could assure him, no _other_ man would ever kiss her.

“I didn’t have to kiss you to know what I felt for you.” He studied her face with rapturous intentness. “Women are funny. A man wants to kiss a woman _because_ he loves her, or rather _if_ he loves her, and a woman loves a man because he kisses her.”

Margot laughed. “Not quite that, dear. Stoner didn’t arouse my passion by kissing me.”

Gene drew her closer with a sudden access of possessive jealousy.

“Damn Stoner. Don’t remind me that he ever touched you.”

“That reminds me,” she said softly. “Another awakening I had in regard to my love for you, Gene, was when I suddenly realized I was miserably jealous of Lulu. Then I _knew_, even better than I did after your caveman exhibition, how much I loved you.”

“I’m terribly flattered, darling, but it does strike me as grotesque, being jealous of that girl. However, I’m mighty glad I ran into her the other night, if it made you a little surer of your love for me.”

The first hour of love’s abandonment to the joy and thrill of mutual understanding, made the blood tingle in Margot’s cheeks, and her lips were tremulous and moist with the first tempest of emotion she had ever experienced. At last she drew a little out of her lover’s arms and studied his eager, sensitive face. Suddenly a smile drew up the corners of her mouth, and she put soft fingers against his lips.

“I’ll believe anything, anything at all you tell me, about adoring me and how beautiful I am, but don’t you dare ever tell me again that I could never grow old or ugly in your eyes.”

He laughed and pressed his lips against her hair.

“But it’s the truth. Perhaps we’ll both live long enough for me to prove it to you, sweetheart.”

“And there’s just one other thing I’d rather not have you say, Gene. Tell me you love me, as often as you like, but never say you’ll _always_ love me. Men are always telling women that, and how can anyone promise such a thing! Live it, Gene--by all means _live_ it--but don’t _say_ it. It might spoil our luck.”

“Fat chance,” he said, with more eloquence of tone than of language.

“By the way, Gene.” She gave him one of her brilliant roguish smiles. “It’ll be rather nice, after we’re married--I won’t have to call you by phone if I should get scared by a spook.”

“You little devil!” He gave her a quick hug. “You whimsical darling!”

“‘Whimsical,’” she repeated softly. “That’s rather nice. You never called me that before.”

“Haven’t I? Well, I’ve often thought it. It describes you better than anything else. It’s the thing about you that will never let you grow old or ugly. I _will_ say it, for it’s true. It’s the thing so few women possess, and that charms and holds a man longer than beauty or wit or even,” he added with a laugh, “a good disposition, and God knows that’s important enough.”

“Here, here! I guess, after all, if that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll let you say--just this once--that you’ll love me forever and ever.”

And Gene’s reply, swift and silent, far better than a brotherly kiss, was more eloquent than any words could have been.

[The End]

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. caveman/cave-man, dressing room/dressing-room, etc.) have been preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Fix one quotation mark pairing.

[Chapter VII]

Change “The headlines of the early _editon_ greeted her” to _edition_.

[End of text]